Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Dragons
by Trins xxx
Summary: Post-war. Nobody thinks of dragons as romantic, nobody except maybe Charlie. But that boy isn't just a Weasley, he's mad! Certainly Pansy thinks so. And she refuses to see angry, violent creatures, breathing out fire, as an afrodisiac of any kind because there is no way a Slytherin, any Slytherin and least of all her, is falling for a mad, dragon-loving Weasley!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer****: **This is not a pseudonym for JK Rowling. Therefore, I do not own Harry Potter.

**Author's Note****: **I have always been partial to Pansy Parkinson and one fine day, years ago, I came across the story 'Dames and Dragons' and absolutely loved it. I rediscovered it recently and that was the inspiration for the story. If you don't like morality in shades of grey or the realities of horrors that war entails, you shouldn't read this. When references to the truly dark stuff is written, I will have the appropriate warnings written at the top but this is a general warning that this will be a dark story, referencing various atrocities to a variety of characters in a variety of circumstances not limited to Hogwarts or those who suffered during the British war.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Dragons<strong>

_The superior man can find himself in no situation in which he is not himself. In a high situation, he does not treat with contempt his inferiors. In a low situation, he does not court the favour of his superiors. He rectifies himself, and seeks for nothing from others, so that he has no dissatisfactions. He does not murmur against heaven, nor grumble against men. Thus it is that the superior man is quiet and calm, waiting for the appointments in heaven, while the mean man walks in dangerous paths, looking for lucky occurrences._

~ Confucius ~

The wind had a vicious bite to it, maliciously attempting to blow the dragon keepers over as they stood in the valley between two mountains. The sun bleakly offered a yellow shine that held little warmth. There was no snow here, though the higher altitudes held them and the platform, made of concrete and rock, had withstood the anger of the winds and blizzards for centuries past, standing as robust now as when it had first been carved into the mountainside.

'They're lucky the weather's so nice. It's a more pleasant welcome than I had,' Nika's Russian drawl was thick, as always when he became excited. Bouncing on the back of his heels with a wide smile, he looked liked a six foot plus, oversized school boy. His partner, standing on the rocky platform to his left, kept his face free from a smile with ease, his naturally small eyes narrowed even further, as if suspicious of what awaited them.

Where Nika was tall and wide with muscle, Aziz was of average height and build, his muscles compact. He was the sort of guy that would have eyes passing over him were it not for the darkness of everything about him; from the colour of his skin to the colour of his hair, eyes and clothes, to the expression on his face. This expression was unfortunate, though, for it was the way his face fell naturally in repose. As dark and thunderous as his face looked right now, all he felt was boredom.

It wasn't long before a short, black train became visible against the backdrop of sunset transforming into night, grey smoke billowing like a crude banner.

'Won't be long now,' Nika gleefully spoke as his partner's expression became more foreboding. Aziz had no expectations of deriving any pleasure from these pesky students. The last three groups had been failures – sufficient to provide entertainment for the more perverse of the dragon keepers but supplying nothing to those of a more serious ilk. No doubt, the second these students were faced with a dangerous and life or limb threatening event, they would scuttle back to their homes too. Aziz could see little to anticipate anything of interest. He would have preferred to even perform dung duty for an entire month. Unfortunately, they had literally drawn the short straw and had been saddled with the unenviable task of babysitting the students. He had wondered if their decorated head had somehow rigged it, but with no evidence and a healthy fear, he wisely kept silent.

It was a further five minutes before the train reached the makeshift platform but that was long enough for Aziz's expression to dour further. He took in a shallow breath, the weather far too cold to take a deep one, preparing himself for several months of excruciating boredom when the doors opened and the first student stepped out.

He blinked once, twice, thrice, with Nika practically giddy beside him. The vision remained of a shapeless creature nearing Nika's height. Weren't the students all female? Was _this_ creature female?

He had focussed so much on the gargantuan witch in front of him that he hadn't noticed another one had stepped out until she had driven a fist into the face of the tall one – a feat considering she was quite possibly a foot shorter. His mouth fell open in surprise as Nika clapped his hands at the show in front of him.

'See, Aziz, I told you this would be fun,' Nika's genial smile held smugness, his eyes crinkling around the hair that covered the bulk of his face. For the first time since drawing the short straw a week ago, Aziz' lips twitched upwards in a minuscule smile.

'Indeed,' he agreed, eyes warily watching the two witches in front of him. (He was almost certain the big one was a witch now.) His eyes narrowed as the giant girl's hands first went to her cheek, pinking up courtesy of the wind rather than the punch. They then surrounded the little witch beside her, eliciting a squeak from her as she stiffened in obvious surprise at the hug. His almost non-existent smile became blatant as he decided that the Hugging Girl would be his favourite. He was certain that Nika had chosen the Punching Girl as _his_ favourite.

Along with them, four other figures had popped off the train. A slim Asian girl, a little pale girl with matching pallor in her eyes and hair, a girl with skin dark enough to match Aziz' own Moroccan ethnicity, and the only witch who could rival their Head in terms of extracting fear, viperous comments and acidic tones – Léonie Scamander.

The old woman with the fiery temper and hair to match was glowering at everyone in turn, and from the fluttering of her lips, Aziz was in no doubt that she was stinging the girls with verbal lashings for their poor behaviour. He couldn't see any evidence of her words having any effect.

His smile grew into a grin to match Nika's, though his appeared far more sinister, as he stepped forward to greet them. 'Welcome, ladies,' he announced grandiosely as six indifferent faces stared at him. 'Follow me and I shall lead you to the guest house,' his eyes lingered on the large one for a moment before he led the way with unexpected optimism, Nika chuckling beside him.

* * *

><p>The building was a fifteen minute walk from the platform. Made of stone, the interior was covered with wood, providing warmth that was more than just an appearance. Parvati walked around the large sitting room, which housed a luxuriously large oak dining table and chairs, as well as a more sociable section consisting of a pair of couches boxing a table into a corner, with a large bookcase within arm's reach. It was pleasant, far more than Parvati would've expected and she was grateful for it. She felt the opposite towards the two Slytherins.<p>

She eyed them with askance again. Millicent Bulstrode had sat herself next to Pansy, glancing at her repeatedly, clearly desperate to breach the silence. Pansy chose to ignore her by curling away.

The other amber couch was taken over by Laraina, an alumnus from Beauxbatons, and Talee from Durmstrang. She hadn't minded either of them but they seemed to have forged an alliance, frequently conversing in German. Parvati suspected it was mostly to discuss the trio from Hogwarts. Madame Scamander had loudly dragged a chair from the dinner table to the semicircle created by the couches and the two dragon keepers stood guard beside her, one on each side.

Parvati eyed the two couches again before purposefully plonking herself between Laraina and Tanee, deeming them the lesser of the two evils, maybe literally. She added to the circle of scowls facing Madame, seated at the head, between the two couches.

'As you know,' Madame glared at them all. 'This placement only occurs every three years.' Her lips became thinner, her tone vibrating with an emotion easily interpreted as disdain. Without realising, all of the girls sat up a little straighter. 'The last few students were a wretched bunch, miserably failing to achieve their aims and blemishing the reputation of this placement. I do not expect miracles but I expect you to not tarnish it further. You will remember that this reflects on me, so you _will_ achieve the bare minimum of acceptable.'

The words '_or else_' wouldn't have been amiss, Parvati thought irritably. And she was damned if she was going for the 'bare minimum of acceptable'. This wasn't just academics or something to add to her CV – she had a real purpose, one which could easily turn out to be life or death. Her eyes were drawn to the two Slytherins again. Did they know? Did they care? Or was that the very reason they were here?

'Alright, well I shall leave you to _their_ care,' she threw an equally derisive glance at the two men beside her. 'And I expect weekly reports from all of you. If I do not hear anything, I will return.' As she uttered her threat, she stood up and walked out before Parvati could so much as think of asking a question.

The silence didn't last long. 'Well, welcome girls, welcome,' the large man said, his face a picture of hair and gleaming white teeth. 'I am Nika and this is Aziz. We shall be looking after you. And do not worry; nobody has ever lost a full limb under our care.' He chuckled despite the stony faces staring at him. 'We will be happy to help you with your projects in anyway,' he ignored the snort from his partner. 'We will show you the rest of the building now.'

They stood up silently and followed him like an obedient string of ducklings. Aziz followed behind them, herding them.

'This is your bedroom,' He created a stunned silence as they entered a very spacious room, were it not for the four large wardrobes taking residence in the four corners of the room, and the four pairs of bunk-beds creating a central space.

'We're all staying together? In this room?' Tatee clarified.

'Yes, I am sure you will enjoy it,' Aziz spoke from behind them, and the malicious smile he wore reminded Parvati unpleasantly of Snape in a bad mood. She repressed a shudder. 'There are two bathrooms,' he pointed to the left and right, where large doors stood between two bunk-beds each. 'And there are two toilets in the living room.'

Re-entering the room, Parvati noticed two doors next to each other in the wall adjacent to the couches but Aziz led them instead towards the wall beyond the dining table, where, again, there were two doors. 'The door on the left leads to the library. There is a larger one in Cottage 0, where us keepers meet for meals. The other door is the kitchen.'

'There's a cooling cupboard _and_ a freezing cupboard in there,' Nika interrupted with enthusiasm, his eyes shining like little beetles in night-time.

'You can access the loft from the bedroom. The fireplace in the library has floo-connections to the buildings, so if you want to get in touch with us, send a flying paper to us or floo us, we are in Cottage 5.'

'Is that because you're not good enough to be in Cottage 1?' The snide voice of Pansy floated through the room, the silence allowing the quiet voice to reach the men. They both turned their eyes on her, appraisingly, but whereas Aziz looked sinister as he had done all day, a pleased smile crossed the face of Nika.

'You might be onto something there, little fighter,' He chuckled at her with a wink, before leaving the building with Aziz.

* * *

><p>'Pansy,' Millicent hissed. 'They'll feed you to the dragons.' She hoped that the melodrama would appeal to her but Pansy just replied with a scornful look. Millicent stood up to follow Pansy to the bedroom only to be faced with hateful eyes staring at her. Her fingers twitched but she resisted the urge to curse Parvati. It'd probably piss Pansy off even more anyway.<p>

The dislike Parvati held for Slytherins was returned with equal fervour but Millicent's feelings ran darker, deeper, twisted into something horribly akin to jealousy. The girl was intelligent with many friends, and Millicent wouldn't have begrudged her either, having a certain hidden intellect herself, if Pansy hadn't perversely clung to her putrid friendship to the Indian. If it wasn't enough that she could steal Millicent's closest friend without trying, the girl was also a bombshell. Tall but not oversized like her, shapely without being twiggy or plump, and, as Millicent watched the dark waves drifting down the back, she even resented the dark skin that glistened like gold in the sunlight, the colour of perfectly baked shortbread biscuits.

That thought pulled her up short, the anger turning inwards. _Of course_ she'd make comparisons to food. For any intellect she held, she had at least double the quantity in blubber.

She had moved automatically towards Pansy, who had taken possession of the bed nearest the door and facing it. It's only when she's about to sit next to her that she faltered, shifting uncertainly on her feet.

'You're top bunk,' is all she said but Millicent recognised the olive branch and accepted it willingly, setting herself and her luggage down.

'So...this is awkward,' she stated the obvious with satisfaction when she heard the sardonic snort from Pansy. People changed but the basics remained the same and the little brunette beside her had never appreciated idiocy.

'Awkward doesn't cover it,' Pansy was gloomily staring at Parvati again and Millicent had to actively resist the urge to slap her. 'So _this_ was the best you guys could come up with to cheer me up? Or was it to instigate a homicidal rampage?' Her eyes were as scathing as her words but all it produced was a giddy glee in the larger girl.

'Yes, well, you know I love entertainment and I can keep a secret if you can.' Maybe it had nothing to do with the girl beside her? Maybe Millicent found freedom in this cramped hut in the middle of nowhere or just _release_ from the crippling desolation that wizarding Britain held or maybe she just wanted to escape the wraiths her friends had grown into? Whatever it was, her lips created a smile and she felt happy for the first time since longer than she could recall.

It vaporised just as quickly. 'I'm going to call it a night,' Pansy nudged her with her foot. 'We can unpack tomorrow,' Pansy responded to Millicent's glance at the luggage. 'We've got all the time in the world and not much to do in it,' she added unnecessarily.

Millicent's eye twitched but with commendable strength she resisted the urge to explain that she wasn't on this placement solely for Pansy's sake. That was just a bonus. Instead, she asked in a forcibly polite tone, 'What about something to eat? Aren't you a little peckish?'

'We've already had dinner,' Pansy replied without turning around, drawing the curtains around the bunk-bed. Millicent wasn't able to stop her teeth from clenching, but her tightly fisted hands at least prevented her from throwing a hex. They'd had dinner on the train but Millicent had easily eaten triple of anything Pansy ate, which said more about Pansy's appetite than hers, for once.

'Did you actually eat anything?' Millicent failed to keep her voice neutral and Pansy looked up at the challenge. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she evaluated the situation. This was a far cry from the girl that wore her heart for all to see and yelled her emotions at others, of the girl that shrugged off consequences or deemed them unimportant, conquerable and Millicent had a pang of longing that surprised her with the depth of pain. It was easy to forget their friendships had been forged in the cold of dungeons with fire from the ill-intent of others, creating the tensile strength of metal. Their friendships won't bend, and the force required to break them hadn't been discovered thus far.

'I've eaten enough, Mills. I'm not hungry,' Pansy finally answered; her words contained vulnerability even as her face remained emotionless. It's the nickname, the hint of the friend she missed, that broke Millicent's resolve to stay strong. There's something between a hiccup and a sob and she suddenly found her middle circled by thin arms.

'It's alright. I'm alright,' Pansy murmured and Millicent didn't know if she was trying to comfort or convince her. It's insufficient for either but beggars can't be choosers and she'll take what she can get for now. The sniffs eventually subsided and Millicent removed herself when she heard the tired sigh from Pansy. Words weren't needed and Millicent promptly climbed to the top bunk, the steps creaking with her weight. She extinguished the torches and the darkness that once would have comforted felt alien instead. She went to sleep plagued with worries that she wouldn't voice and a fear of failure that threatened to strangle her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer****: **I do not own Harry Potter. I would be exceedingly rich, if I did!

* * *

><p><span><strong>Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Dragons<strong>

_To think bad thoughts is really the easiest thing in the world. If you leave your mind to itself it will spiral down into ever-increasing unhappiness. To think good thoughts, however, requires effort. This is one of the things that discipline – training – is about._

~ James Clavell ~

The sun is making an appallingly poor attempt at warmth but it's hotter than you're used to and it's just another thing to add to your list of grievances. You've never been more grateful for the strict rules and medieval mentality in the Grand Romanian Dragon Reserve that compelled Gerasim to follow you to your rainy little home island. He's the only sane person, other than Bill, that you've come across. You're almost certain you would've been locked up for life in Azkaban by now, if Gerasim hadn't calmed you down, gotten you inebriated, or stolen your wand to halt your homicidal urges that seem to be becoming increasingly regular.

If there is an unwritten rule that Weasleys shall love and hold their family above all else, you're more than willing to be disowned. As of right now, you never, _ever_ want to see the rest of your family, if you can help it. You would honestly rather spend a lifetime in the nest of a Hungarian Horntail right now (and no sane person, dragon keeper or not, would choose that).

'Charlie,' Gerasim's thickly accented voice reaches you and you still. It's the least you could do for him, after he had to sit through another Weasley row. 'You are alright?'

What can you say to that? You're not alright. You haven't been in a long time and nor has your family. But you aren't helping them in any way with the trips home that your mother is demanding and the reverse is true too.

'Only one day left, we return tomorrow,' you find your usually stern partner tranquilly standing next to you, surrounded by the green hills that you remember running around with Bill and Percy in your younger days. You wait for the expected nostalgia and you're more sad than surprised when there isn't any.

'The sooner, the better,' is all you can bring yourself to mutter, Bill's face dancing in front of your eyes. He'd been so excited this morning, the first time since Fred's death that you've seen him smile so easily. He'd announced at lunch that he had been offered a job at the Swiss banks, far more exhilarating than working at Gringotts could ever be, and rather than any congratulations, there had been silence. Percy had taken the first step, congratulating him with sincerity as their mother had just sniffed disapprovingly. George didn't care, Ron kept silent and Ginny had, for whatever reason, glowered at Fleur. He'd been about to step forward and break the silence again when it was, surprisingly, his father that had initiated the latest argument.

'Well, if this is Fleur's preferernce, then I suppose we'll have to respect it,' he'd said in a tight voice, no pleasure or pride on his face as Percy looked appalled. You were sure your face looked identical too.

'It's not what Fleur wants, it's what I want,' Bill had snapped back, eyes glinting as Fleur had merely played with the babe in her lap, her lips compressed carefully into a straight line as she quietly left the room. George had scoffed, so quick to hurt those around him now, and Ginny had snorted. It was Molly who had spoken next, no doubt with the best of intentions but never getting it quite right.

'But Bill, your home is here, Shell Cottage is here. Why would you want to go somewhere so far away?' her tone had been soothing, patronising as always. 'If you want to live somewhere bigger, we'll find something for you. And after all that we've lost...' her voice had faltered, her eyes watering as you'd been tempted to just storm out at the blatant emotional blackmail. As far as you're concerned, Bill was perfectly justified in losing it and it made you desperate to get back to Romania too. Both of your parents had tried their separate approaches to convince you to move to a dragon reserve closer to home and you thank every deity of every religion you can think of that your contract is binding for another two years.

'Charles,' Bill's voice drifts to you as Gerasin murmured an excuse to leave the two of you alone. 'Thought I'd find you here,' his voice doesn't sound pleased by any means, but it's far more level than when you had finally stormed out in the middle of the fight. In hindsight, you probably should've stayed to give Bill some much needed support. Ron and Ginny had disappeared as soon as possible, George had stormed to his room after accusing Bill of not giving a shit about their family and Percy had been a placating voice of reason that their father had witheringly dismissed time and cruel time again.

'William,' you respond like with like. It's a habit the three of you had developed in the years after the first war and before starting Hogwarts – you, Bill and Percy.

Bill stands beside you but you can't bring yourself to look at him, not yet when the guilt of abandoning him to his battle weighs on you and the guilt of resenting your family weighs even more heavily.

'We're moving in a couple of months. Visit us?' Bill breaks the silence at last, the relief radiating evanescently. You feel a little lighter, happy for Bill and Fleur for escaping this, whatever this is.

'You know I will,' you respond, immediately less despondent. The silence eases away the resentment trickling through your veins. Sometimes, it feels like a poison that's mutating you, other times it feels like the only thing that keeps you going. Most of the time, you wonder what kind of monster you've become, that resents not only the bastards deserving of it but his own family.

The sun's dipping and the sky is the colour of spilt blood. The wind's enough to make it chilly and you can see Bill shivering from the corner of your eye. It feels soothing to you, reminds you of home and it's been a long time since you wondered when Romania became home and The Burrow became a chore.

'I was thinking that Mum does love us,' Bill breaks the calm. You can't pinpoint what that timbre in his voice is. 'I'm sure dad loves us too but I think he loves mum a lot more.'

_That_ catches your attention. You turn to look at him, quizzical.

'All of us have something,' Bill muses, his eyes looking at something you can't see. 'Except mum. All she has is us. I think that's why she holds on to us so tightly. And I think dad feels guilty because she has nothing else. I think it's why he acts the way he does.'

The blood's burning and churning through you like a Greek Wildfire. You're sure that if somebody cut you open right now, the neighbourhood would be cinder within seconds.

'It doesn't excuse their behaviour,' you rip the words out of your throat once you're sure the words won't be a curse.

'It doesn't,' Bill agrees blandly, shrugging. 'But it helps me understand them a little better.' You can't deny that but you're not in a particularly pacifying mood. It makes you itch to get back to Romania all the more.

You both wallow in the quiet for a little longer, savouring the moments of peace that seems tainted nonetheless, before you head back.

Dinner is a brittle, quiet affair with a suffocating tension that feels dizzying. The conversation's carried by poor Gerasim, forcing him out of his natural silence, Bill, Fleur and Molly. You discern George's red eyes and immediately flash your eyes away, a tumultuous mixture of guilt and anger and resentment. It doesn't justify his behaviour. It really doesn't but shouldn't you be cutting him some slack too?

Ginny's as sullen as a girl in the middle of her teen angst, but you notice that Ron's talking to her quietly, too softly for you to hear what he says. It's clearly not to her liking because she throws him a dirty look. They're little more than children, and they've seen blood and death. The haunted look that sometimes creeps into Ron's eyes tell you that he may well have caused some of the blood and death and that he feels the burden of it.

Maybe the Sorting Hat was right. Maybe you shouldn't have been in Gryffindor because right now, there's nothing more you want than to escape from the constant reminders of the nightmares that stalks your dreams, and if that isn't cowardly, you don't know what is.

You hold your breath until the meal's over with no further fights, before you slip away to your room gratefully. You're readying for bed when there's a knock that heralds Ron's entrance to the room you're sharing with Gerasim and Bill. He shuffles in and where is the boy who stood by Harry Potter's side and faced down terrorists and monsters that left grown men quaking? You say nothing as he looks around the room.

'I'm glad you came,' he says finally, words stilted and coarse. He's uncertain how to continue and you would help him but this little boy, who's no longer so little or a boy, is practically a stranger to you. 'I… I know we don't really know each other but I'm glad you came,' he struggles through the words, eyes drifting everywhere but your face.

It hits you then. You've been so desperate to escape because you can. Ron can't right now. You doubt George could ever. But despite it all, you're still family. _They're_ still family. You act on impulse – the first time since you came back, your muscles pulling your scrawny kid brother down and into your arms for a hug, the first in years.

Ron's shocked and stiff and it makes your lips twitch upwards. He's still such a kid, sometimes. When you part, you look at him even as he looks away, his eyes moist and his face flushed. You weigh things and then you take a chance, because why not? It's what led to the first real thread of kinship between you and Ron in years.

'Look after Percy,' you say forcefully as he looks startled, puzzled. 'Look, Percy's had it rough – rougher than you know,' because Dumbledore was a bigger manipulator than any of them had ever guessed at the time but it all came out after his death, thanks to McGonagall's upstanding nature. 'And he's doing his best. It might not be enough for George right now, or dad,' _ever_, he wants to say but there's too much truth to admit to it. 'And Ginny's taking everything out on him, but he tried to look out for you, for _us_, no matter what. And you're better than that, better than a bully, yeah?'

Ron's face is a picture of grim determination as he nods firmly and you feel a surprising swell of pride before the moment is interrupted by Bill's entrance.

'Everything okay?' The eldest brother asks with tempered curiosity.

'We're just having some brotherly bonding,' you retort light-heartedly.

'Without me,' he looks at the two of you with reproach as you can't help but smile. 'At least include me in the group hug.'

You both ignore Ron's panicked eyes and drag him in. As you're lying in bed later that night, you realise that maybe you won't be so averse to returning here, as long as you have a nice long break between then. Gerasim's sleeping; he doesn't snore but he has a heavy breathing that's become recognisable after years of working together. Bill's still awake, turning now and again when he breaks the peace.

'I'll be glad to get out of here,' is all he says but his voice is laden with emotions that you can't isolate. You grunt your agreement, reluctant to shatter the tentative reconciliation you have mentally forged with this place and all that it reminds you of. As your eyes close, your last thought is that perhaps the heaviest guilt you hold is because you resent Fred, stupid, rash, arrogant, lovable Fred, more than anyone or anything else.

It's with enormous relief that both you and Gerasim apparate to the Platform outside the Grand Romanian Dragon Reserve the following day. The cold wind, the towering mountains, the distant smell of soot and smoke – it feels like you're returning home after a war, which in some aspects you probably are. You make your way up, feet familiar with the uncertain terrain. The communal cottage is quiet due to the silencing charms but the noise hits you like a blast of hot air when you cross the threshold.

'Gerasim, Charlie,' multiple voices call out a welcome in good cheer and you can't help the smile that spread across your face. It lasts until beautiful, blonde Bogdana tells you with pleasure that you and Gerasim have landed with Babysitting Duties on weekends and social outings. Gerasim sighs with resignation but you're indignant and you demand to know why.

'Because you weren't here for the straw pulling,' she tells you with a teasing smile and eyes far too amused that they should be. You bristle automatically but before you can say anything, Gerasim speaks.

'Who is looking after them now?'

It's with glee that the blonde replies. 'Aziz and Nika,' she pronounces, as one would pronounce a life sentence. It might as well be.

'Guess I won't be actually seeing any dragons for a while,' you grumble, settling into a chair. 'How many of them are there?' You finally think to ask.

'Five, all girls,' the blonde replies, twirling a lock of her glistening hair. It's better than boys, you suppose. They had a foolish tendency to show off, which was partially why this place had become selective. At least you wouldn't have to try and save lives and limbs, you think, even though there's a large part of you that would've preferred it.

'We'll introduce ourselves tonight,' Gerasim quickly states, his usual stern manner overtaking the softness he had shown to you. You sigh, seizing a plate of food. There's no point in asking what the girls are like. Knowing this lot the way you do, you wouldn't know what was truth and what were lies and what were exaggerations. Best to meet them with no expectations. You console yourself with the thought that anything's better than The Burrow.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's Note<strong>**: **There's not much to say, other than I suspect you know the likely end-pairing. I should add a warning that this will be quite a dark story, and when the time comes, the rating will move up to M and appropriate warnings at the start of the chapters will be written. If I haven't mentioned it in the last chapter, I would like to give due credit to **Dames and Dragons** by **BeckandCall** for convincing me that this pairing was a good idea. I would highly recommend their story – it's one I've reread twice already.

A huge thank you to **ClumsyTonks** for the review and for following the story. I hope you get the opportunity to read this chapter and I would love your opinion on the shift/change in style of story-telling.

Love it or hate it – drop me a line to tell me what you think of it.

Most of all – I hope you guys enjoy reading it.


End file.
